Inspiration

I watched a young man in a gray suit fidget impatiently on the Hertz Rental Car bus that waited to return us to Miami International Airport.
He turned to his corporately clad partner.
“What is taking so long?” he snapped.
“How should I know?” snarled suit number two. “Why don’t you go ask?”
The man bounded out of his [...]

I hopped out of bed at 4 AM, determined to watch the plains wake up,
rode away from El Paso on my metallic steed long before the bacon hit the skillet.
Carlos Santana and I hit a groove as a pale aura crept onto the horizon, a misty haze that came from nowhere yet extended everywhere, a [...]

A thousand tiny stars blink above me as I cross the boardwalk.
To my right and left wild sea oats dance in the breeze, scratching at the night sky.
I glance down the beach and watch a pale wafer of a moon blink behind a wandering cloud.
3 AM, a time for druids and fairies and magical musings.
Angry [...]

The woman shuffled toward the kitchen.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose and the bone above her eye socket, the one mostly covered by a manicured eyebrow.
On her way, she shot a bleary glance through the living room window at the weather outside—too early to tell.
Her ritual never varied.
The left arm opened the door to [...]

The one they called Longboy perched his hat to the side, smirked, pursed his lips as if to blow a brass trombone, shrugged his shoulders in one short, sharp burst of boredom and spout out:
“Time for a bit of mischief. Yes, indeed—time.”
Pirouette adjusted her chartreuse dress of soft chiffon.
“Shall we take on ride on old [...]

As a youngster growing up overseas, I attended Kensington, the British school in Barcelona, Spain, along with a mixed breed of diplomatic offspring, foreign residents and the occasional progressive thinking local.
We made up quite a bunch, cultures clashing constantly, embracing the fiery politics that followed the demise of long-term dictator Generalissimo Franco, comparing, contrasting and [...]

Bill slammed the door on his way in the house, turned the corner and met Louise in the hallway.
She took one glance at him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked right away.
“I’m just so stressed out.” Bill responded. “I don’t have time to do anything. Work is killing me. I have too many committee meetings.”
He put his hands [...]

SILLY HUMANS!
The hummingbird darted around the limbs of the oak tree, looking for his life partner.
He spotted her hovering above the terrace, directly over the man and the woman who sat at the cedar table, deep in conversation.

“They’re at it again,” the female bird said.
“No way,” he responded. “Same tape?”
“Same tape. He’s trying to do the right thing and she’s helping him see through his confusion. He’s a mess.”
The female bird looked at her mate.

“Why do you think they complicate everything so much?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Humans are so weird.”
“From what I can gather, the love of his life left him.
He’s not sure if it’s because someone else is involved and that’s messing with him.
He’s not sure if she was the right one anyway because if so, why wouldn’t she want to stay and work it out—at least give it a solid effort.
He’s not sure if she’s having a mid-life crisis and if that would or should change the course of events.
He keeps repeating the same ramblings over and over, pulling apart every detail, fighting the urge to blame himself and his failings.
I’ve heard the stories so many times, that I could almost narrate them myself.
What a broken record.”
The tiny bird nuzzled her long beak against her mate’s neck.

“I feel sorry for them,” she continued.
“Sorry for who?” the male bird asked.
“Humans. They take a simple concept like commitment and make a humongous, distorted jumble of it all, with layer after layer of
inferences, tiny rips and tears that erode the essence of a beautiful, clearly attainable ideal.
They fail to pay attention and convert joy into suffering in such a casual way.”

“Nothing casual about suffering,” the male bird said, nuzzling her back.
“No. The casual part comes from taking the painting they originally said they wanted and allowing tiny cracks to slowly convert
it into a mosaic, disjointed pieces that fracture and eventually, destroy the vision.
Then they quit.” She paused.
“They quit, and think that if they merely pick up a brush and paint again, the landscape can look different—even though they don’t
stop to examine why the last painting dried up, cracked and ended up in ashes on the ground. So sad.”
“Big bold strokes look brighter,” noted the male. “Much more fun than cleaning out cracks.”

“Only until the same cracks show up again,” she retorted. “And they always do. If you don’t take time to evolve the painter,
the paintings will all turn out the same.”
“Can’t go there.” The male bird declared. “Seems such a waste. I think I like my philosophy better.”
“Oh?” The female turned to face him beak to beak.

“You’re stuck with me, babe,” he smiled. “Until the honey dries out.”
“Beat you to the flower bed,” she challenged and took off with her mate directly behind her.

As they flew over the terrace, the lovebirds glanced down at the man and the woman.
They were still talking.